


Like This

by Little_Lotte



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lotte/pseuds/Little_Lotte
Summary: Just taking a stab at a confession scene that's...not very much of a confession. XD





	Like This

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen the show yet, but I read the book and the fandom things I've been seeing are very Good and Soft and this pair is very much in keeping with my OTP Brand (tm), so this idea just sort of grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Not sure on all the little plot details because, as I said, I haven't gotten to watch the show. But I'm mostly just here to embarrass Crowley. And I feel like I accomplished that.

“You know,” Aziraphale begins, “I’ve been wondering about something for a while now.”

“Nng,” Crowley answers vaguely, implying that he is listening, but also that he has had quite a bit to drink.

A few months have passed since Armageddon had failed to happen, and the world seems to have moved on from it without too much bother. The humans had, for the most part, adapted or ignored, or in some cases completely forgotten, all the strange things that had occurred both to them an around them. Coping mechanisms and what have you. Or perhaps it was just in their nature to soldier on after such things. If nothing else, they had always seemed rather resilient, despite being so short-lived; it was one of the things Aziraphale had always liked about them, as a matter of fact.

For their own part, Aziraphale and Crowley had fallen back into their own little habits. Wine and books and lunches. Strolls through the park to feed the ducks. Prodding at each other without ever really trying to land a barb. Everything the same as it ever was. Mostly.

This evening had been carryout sushi and three bottles of red in the back of Aziraphale’s bookstore, and the angel had to admit; he was feeling rather pleasantly warm and inebriated.

“I was wondering,” he begins again, trying to focus, “About Tadfield.”

“Hm, Tadfield,” Crowley echoes agreeably, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Yes,” Aziraphale continues, “About how the only thing I could sense from it when we were still looking for the boy was flashes of…well. You know… _love._ ”

“Haf’ta take your word for it,” Crowley shrugs.

“Right. Well, but when you first told me about the boy, and we had our little chat about how to handle things-”

“Which we utterly botched,” Crowley reminds him.

“We were rather incompetent, yes,” Aziraphale concurs, rushing on to his point, “But you said…you _said_ that his nature could be changed depending on how he was brought up.”

“Yeah?” Crowley replies, making a face like he’s not sure that he likes where this conversation is heading.

“Well…you were _right_ , weren’t you?” Aziraphale says, thumping his hand on his desk triumphantly, “Adam Young is _human_. Mostly. At least in terms of his immortal soul. He didn’t want to end the world, or even rule over it. And he was capable of love. A love so strong that it permeates the very air of the place he lives in.”

“What are you getting at, Angel?” Crowley asks, drunk and suspicious.

“Well, it shouldn’t have been possible, should it?” Aziraphale replies, as though the answer should be obvious, “If he was born a demon, and your natures are set in stone, then he should have turned out to be evil, despite his upbringing.”

“S’pose,” Crowley replies with another shrug and a rather large gulp of wine, “Although, most of your average demons aren’t as keen on destruction and death as you might think. S’just a job. Humans do plenty of horrible things to each other all on their own.”

“I am well aware,” Aziraphale assures him, “But they can do those awful things and then still hope for redemption. They can fall into darkness and still choose to step back into the light.”

“All part of the Big Experiment, I'd wager,” Crowley mumbles, fidgeting in his chair, “He just never gets bored of offering them another apple tree.”

“But it’s not just them, is it?” Aziraphale says, almost insistent now, “Think about it, Crowley. If an angel can fall, and become a demon… Then couldn’t a demon ascend, and become an angel again?”

There is a long pregnant pause between them. Crowley shifts enough to adjust his sunglasses, making sure they are firmly settled over his eyes. Aziraphale can feel the blood rushing to his face, and gets a sneaking suspicion that it is not just from the wine.

“Trying to save my soul, are you, Angel?” Crowley says at long last, his voice carefully neutral.

“No!” Aziraphale replies a little too quickly, “I mean…I don’t think getting back on His good side would be the _worst_ thing you could do, but I don’t…”

He heaves a sigh.

“I don’t think either of us would be welcome back at our respective offices at this point, truth be told.”

“You’re probably right,” Crowley hums, sprawling back against the couch.

“And besides,”Aziraphale says, still not quite managing to look him in the eye, “Besides…I don’t really think your soul _needs_ to be saved.”

“If you start accusing me of being nice again, I swear I’m leaving,” the demon threatens.

“You’re not evil, Crowley,” Aziraphale says.

“There’s no need to insult me,” Crowley frowns, sounding more uncomfortable than truly upset.

 “You were an angel once,” Aziraphale persists, “Maybe you can’t come back to heaven, but doesn’t that mean that your nature and mine are similar? That we came into being with more in common than not? I know that our respective sides would say that those bridges have all been burned, and in the past I would have agreed, but after meeting Adam… If it's not about what you're born as, and it's not about which office you end up working for, maybe it's just…choices? If humans can make them, why shouldn't we?"

"And just what choices are we making, Aziraphale?" Crowley wonders, verging on belligerent, "You going to step out with me one evening to let the air out of someone's tires, or help me disconnect the phonelines again, hm? Gonna be my lovely assistant the next time I come up with some new idea for mayhem and mischief?"

He leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees and peering up at Aziraphale over the rim of his sunglasses with cold yellow eyes.

"Or is this really about _me_ changing?" he continues, his tone sliding more toward mocking now, "'Oh, my dear Crowley, it is all _so_ simple! You could simply _choose_ not to be a demon anymore! Wouldn't that be marvelous? Then it wouldn't be such a bother to explain our relationships at parties.' Is that it? You said yourself that I probably can't be an angel again, but you don't want me to be a demon, so just _what_ do you think I should be, eh? Your average garden snake? A houseplant? _Human?_ -There's a laugh."

"N-no, I-" Aziraphale stammers, suddenly very sorry that he can't think of anything better to do with his hands besides fiddling with the sleeves of his coat, "I know that we've had our differences, but… I wouldn't expect you to change for _my_ sake, my dear fellow. And I wouldn't ask you to. I was merely postulating about whether or not it was even possible. I've never heard of a demon rejoining the fold, though I doubt it is something that either side would want to talk about very much. Do you suppose a demon could choose to become good again? Can they just decide not to be a demon anymore? Can they still experience things like joy and love?" 

"I don't see why not," Crowley sighs, still on edge, but somewhat mollified by the angel's answer, "Though Hell would almost certainly intervene before to poor sod got very far with it. Bad for business, you know."

Aziraphale nods in acceptance, pauses for a few moments, and then frowns, clearly turning things over in his mind.

"But…in Tadfield," Aziraphale starts carefully, "You said you couldn't feel it. The…the love that Adam had for that place. Does that mean that you can't…erm. Well, I suppose that question is a bit of an imposition."

Crowley shrugs, turning his face away.

"I don't figure it matters very much if I can or not, all things considered."

"It just seems a trifle… _sad_ , I suppose," Aziraphale sighs, "To not even remember a feeling like that well enough to recognize it."

"I…rather like my Bentley," Crowley offers halfheartedly.

"I really don't think that's quite the same," Aziraphale replies, and to Crowley's mounting horror, his gaze his dark and deep with the shades of what is almost certainly pity.

"Here now, you can pack in that face and save it for the next starving urchin you find in the street," Crowley snaps, "Just because I didn't get all tingly over a boy and his dumpy little hometown doesn't mean I can't remember what love bloody-well feels like! I'm just...not really keeping an eye out for it, am I? Not part of the job description, yeah? I don't need it for anything useful and I've got over six thousand years of memories to keep track of. You can't expect me to just remember everything at the drop of a hat!"

Crowley was actually very good at remembering most things, whether or not you had dropped your hat. They were both aware of this, but the angel tactfully decided to side-step the issue. It was hardly the point of the conversation, after all.

"So, what do you suppose love feels like then?" Aziraphale prods, genuinely curious but also not above being a bit of a prat, "Since you are so well acquainted."

For a few moments, Crowley looks well and truly furious. He realized that he was trapped between cloying sympathy and stark vulnerability, and neither option seemed especially attractive. No matter what he said, the angel was never going to let him live it down. Aziraphale would be holding this over his head until the sun expanded and swallowed the earth. If humans didn't manage to blow it up by then.

Then he takes a moment to look at Aziraphale. _Really_ look at him. And thinks back to the first time they spoke in the garden. He thinks of the rain, and stepping towards the angel without much of a thought, and Aziraphale extending the shelter of his wings with the same kind of easiness. It hasn't always been like that between them, but he wonders…

If he asks for shelter now, will it be granted? If he takes that same step forward, will Aziraphale reach back for him again? And what will happen if he doesn't?

He swallows thickly.

"It feels like this," Crowley mumbles under his breath.

"Like what?" Aziraphale blinks, sincerely baffled.

"You know," Crowley replies, gesturing vaguely to the bookshop and everything assembled therein, "Like _this_."

"It feels…like my shop?" Aziraphale says slowly, still not cottoning on.

Crowley wants to scream.

"No!" he hisses, "Well, yes! But not _just_ the shop. It's, you know, _all_ of it. It's… _this._ "

His ears are burning like hellfire and he absolutely refuses to clarify things more than that.

"Oh?" says Aziraphale, looking around at the wine bottles and the soggy boxes holding the remnants of their dinner, and then finally back at Crowley himself. He's not entirely sure what the expression on his face must be conveying, but Aziraphale suddenly takes in a rather sharp breath through his nose. "… _Oh."_

"Yes, well…I hope your curiosity is sated," Crowley sniffs, feeling more than a little put out.         

"Oh, quite thoroughly," Aziraphale assures him, sounding a little out of breath and smiling a little smile that seems entirely too pleased.

"There's no need to look so smug about it," the demon grouses.

"My apologies," Aziraphale returns, not seeming the least bit sorry at all, "But I would simply like to say that-"

"You don't have to say anything!" Crowley hastily cuts him off, heart jackhammering in his chest and feeling slightly ill.

"I simply wanted to assure you,"Aziraphale continues mercilessly, "That -angel or demon or something that is not quite either of those things- you could choose to be any of them, and I wouldn't mind. The only thing that I ask you to be, is Crowley."

"You just had to go and make it sappy," Crowley groans.

"I only meant-"

"I know what you meant!"

"Is it really so terrible to think that I-"

" _Shut it!_ "

 Crowley's face is nearly as red as his hair, and he suddenly feels like maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad thing, if the world had come to an end.

Aziraphale smiles.


End file.
